


Calling the Shots

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cold Weather, Episode: s04e02 Heavy Lies the Crown, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Set in 4.02. Bellamy and Clarke find themselves in a truck in the middle of nowhere in cold weather. Fluff and lemons ensue.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166
Collections: Bellarke smut





	Calling the Shots

**Author's Note:**

> The world needed another oneshot where Clarke and Bellamy get pushed together in cold weather, right? This one is set in episode 4.02. Thanks to Stormkpr for betaing, and happy reading!

Clarke hasn't been waiting all day for Bellamy to get back with the hydrogenerator.

OK, maybe that needs a bit of rephrasing. Clarke _has_ been waiting all day for the _team_ to get back with the hydrogenerator, because it's an important mission. She's anxious about it, because it directly impacts the survival of her people.

She seems to get anxious a lot, recently.

No, that's not what's relevant, here. She is worried about the success of the hydrogenerator mission, and worried about the safety of the whole team. She is not worried about Bellamy in particular. Well, maybe she is, but only in as much as he's her good friend and he always keeps her alive and it sucks that she can't be out there doing that for him, now.

Who is she kidding? She's been waiting all day for Bellamy to get back, because she needs him to get back in one piece every bit as much as she needs that machine whole and functional.

She's not had a very productive day, and she hates herself for it. She's Clarke Griffin – she's supposed to be able to think rationally even when she's anxious. She is not supposed to wander aimlessly and stare out of windows just because Bellamy is out there trying to accomplish a vital task. She needs to find a solution that saves everyone, not just her people.

She hasn't found a solution. Not even close. She should just have gone with him. She's got herself so worked up, here, that she's not even sure what she's most anxious about any more – his safety or the welfare of that precious machine.

Just when Clarke is beginning to suspect that she might be losing her mind, just when she can feel her cheeks flushing with the shame of her failure to hold it together, the truck pulls into the yard.

She runs to meet him – _them_ – and pulls Monty and Harper in for a relieved hug as they tumble from the vehicle. They look confused, but are as usual not inclined to complain, and then they pull away to get on with unloading their precious cargo.

The hydrogenerator. They have the hydrogenerator.

"It's working?" Raven asks, having joined them on the scene.

"Looks like it." Monty confirms. "Where do you want it?"

With that, Clarke finds herself completely superfluous as Raven takes charge of getting the crucial part safely stowed in the hangar bay. She breathes a sigh of relief, and turns back to the truck.

Now to find Bellamy. He must be OK, she reckons. Someone would have told her, if not. But all the same -

He jumps down from the driver's seat and marches towards her, an intent expression gracing his face. He moves with purpose, and urgency, and for one heady moment she allows herself to pretend that he worries about her half as much as she worries about him.

She is just opening her arms for a hug when he lunges out and grabs her shoulder. And then suddenly he's dragging her gracelessly and almost _roughly_ towards the truck and she cannot make the slightest slither of sense of it.

"Bellamy?" She asks, frantic with confusion. This is not what she needs after a whole day agonising over the fate of his mission. "What are you doing?"

"Driving to Polis." He tells her, shoving her towards the passenger door. "And you're coming with me."

She shakes her head in confusion, but she gets in the truck all the same. "Why are we going to Polis?"

"Because we need to speak to Roan." He bites out, jaw clenched so tight she's surprised the words can sneak past his lips. "I'll explain on the way. Let's go."

"You can't expect me to just up and go to Polis." She says, disbelief warring with the dregs of anxiety still lining her stomach. "I don't understand what's happening."

She doesn't like not understanding.

He spares a moment to glance at her, and his jaw softens just a little. "Do you trust me?"

It's a stupid question. "Of course I trust you."

He nods, briskly, and floors the accelerator, and speeds through the still-open gates of Arkadia.

Clarke clutches in frantic horror at anything and everything within reach and wonders why Bellamy, of all people, appears to be trying to kill her.

"Bellamy." She gasps, and tries to take in some oxygen. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

He lets up on the accelerator just a little. She reckons he's probably looking across at her, casting that exasperated-with-Clarke glance she loves so much, but she's a bit busy fixing her panicked gaze on the horizon to check just now.

"Clarke." He says her name quietly, and his tone is rather at odds with the way he's still blazing a brisk trail down the well-worn track between Arkadia and Polis. "What happened today? I know this isn't about my driving, or about me telling you we have to get to Polis. You trust me, remember?"

She makes an agreeing sort of a noise, and curses him for being so perceptive. She has to admit that, whilst he's driving fast, he's not necessarily going _recklessly_ fast. She may even be prepared to concede that she's been in a moving vehicle with him under similar circumstances before now.

She's just had a nervous day, OK?

"Clarke?" He prompts her again, and this time she _knows_ he's doing that exasperated-affectionate gaze thing. She doesn't know how she knows, she can just read it in his tone.

"I'm fine." She says, in the end, although she's pretty sure the trembling of her voice gives her away.

She curses herself for that weakness, and turns to look out her side window.

"Which is what you always say when you're _not fine_." He points out, a little bite to his words now. "Seriously, Clarke, you look like you've seen a ghost."

She gives a nervous laugh. "Why would you say that? I'm fine. Nothing to be scared of."

"There are plenty of things to be scared of right now." He reminds her, and she can hear frustration warring with care in his tone.

That's a combination that is very _them_ , she decides, as she wonders how to go about responding to him.

As if sensing that she is at a loss, he carries on in her place. "I'd say it's a pretty frightening time we're living in. But we've never let a bit of fear stop us before, have we, Princess?"

She bridles at his gentle tone. She's not sure why, but somehow she can't take kind understanding from him, not now. It's only feeding into the shame she already feels.

"Of course fear isn't _stopping me_." She tells him, hotly, hating herself for the lie. "I've got too much to do to let a little anxiety slow me down."

"You know something?" He begins, deliberately casual, and she allows herself to risk a peek at him. He's got his eyes fixed carefully on the road as he talks, and she is sorely tempted to laugh despite herself. It is so typical of their relationship, she thinks with half a snort, that they are having this emotional conversation whilst pretending to be tough and impervious to worry and ready to save the world.

"What?" She asks, humouring him, inviting him to help her out of this hole she seems to have dug herself into.

"I've always thought that being anxious and being logical aren't so incompatible."

He hasn't always thought that, and she knows it. And most of all, he knows that she knows it. But her heart melts all the same at his clumsy attempt to set her to rights.

"Tell me more." She invites him, a challenging twist to her brow even though he's still refusing to look at her.

"Anxiety seems like a pretty natural reaction to our current circumstances." He tells her with a staged shrug. "I've been worried a lot myself, recently. About O. About the end of the world. About – about you. You can be scared and still call the shots." He pauses, and turns to graze her eyes with his own at last. "You _are_ scared and still calling the shots. And that's pretty damn impressive, Clarke. But I've got your back, if ever you need me to."

She swallows down the emotion that rises in her throat at that, and tries for a coherent response. "I know. Like I said, I trust you."

He turns to grin at her, and she reminds him cheerfully to watch the road, and she practises breathing for a couple of minutes as they drive in a more relaxed silence. She practises, too, trying not to shiver with cold - she's not sure why Bellamy felt the need to drag her out here in the middle of winter without even letting her grab a coat.

It occurs to her, then, that there's a question she should probably have prioritised before now.

"Why are we going to Polis?"

Bellamy lets out a strangled sigh. "I wondered when we'd get back to that. It's – it's a hell of a story."

"Well, we've got a long drive, and _someone_ didn't give me time to pack music."

He lets out a brief chuckle, but all levity flees from his voice in a anguished choking noise as he starts to explain. "The Ice Nation. They're holding some of our people as slaves."

" _What_?"

"Riley. Some others I didn't know. Monty knew more of them. And – and there were kids there." He sounds close to tears, and that shocks her more even than the tale he is telling. "We have to go to Roan and tell him to free them."

"Yes. Of course." She nods firmly, and spares a moment to notice that she's doing rather better now there's an immediate crisis to solve. Calling the shots will always suit her more than sitting around waiting for the end of days.

Bellamy is silent for a long moment, eyes fixed on the track more carefully than she thinks can possibly be necessary. She senses that he's not done talking, yet, and she leans back in her seat and breathes carefully, calmly. She hopes that, if nothing else, her peaceful state might inspire a bit of confidence in him, in turn.

She reckons she owes him that, after what he just did for her.

At last, he breaks the silence. "We could have brought them home today."

"What do you mean?" She asks, perplexed. This does not sound at all like the Bellamy she knows. If there was anything he could have done to set those people free, she knows he would have shifted Heaven and Earth to make it happen. He has never been good at sitting calmly by while his people suffer.

"I – I had a choice. _We_ had a choice, but it came down to me as the final vote." He sucks in a loud breath. "We could have blown that place sky high with that damn machine and brought them all home today."

"But you didn't." She tries to keep her tone neutral, but she is burning with curiosity.

"I didn't." He confirms, jaw clenched in anger. She's not sure who he's more angry with – the Ice Nation or himself. "I was about to do it, Clarke. Their faces – and the _kids_." He shakes his head, and she's growing increasingly convinced that she can hear the beginnings of tears in his voice. "But then I remembered what Raven said, about how essential that hydrogenerator was. How hundreds of people would _die_ if we didn't get it back."

"She was right. _You_ were right. You did the right thing." She murmurs, hoping her words are comforting.

"I did the _Clarke_ thing." He corrects her harshly. "I just kept thinking of how worried you looked this morning, and I couldn't tell whether you were more worried about us or that machine, but you kept going on about how important the mission was. I couldn't let you down. But also – I knew it was what you'd do. You'd take the machine, and then you'd go and play politics in Polis and talk Roan into giving our people back."

She digests that for a moment. It is, on the one hand, a painful accusation. This man occupies a substantial portion of her heart and it _hurts_ to sit here and listen to him say that she'd _take the machine_. When he puts it like that, it is hard to take it as a compliment. And the scorn with which he talks of _playing politics_ speaks for itself.

But he did the right thing. He did the right thing, and saved lives, and he did that because of _her_ , at least in some small way.

"You did good." She whispers, in the end, somehow frightened to speak into the stillness left behind by his outburst. "Really, Bellamy, you made the right call. We'll get them back, and getting that machine home saved hundred of lives."

He snorts, and keeps driving. And she knows he's only snorting to try to disguise those damn tears, but she's had it with him, if she's being entirely honest. She doesn't understand a partnership in which he's willing to sit there and soothe her fears, but not willing to have her take care of him in turn. She doesn't want the world to end before she has chance to show him that she's got his back, too.

She takes a deep breath, and a risk.

"It was you. I was more worried about _you_ than the machine. And I know that's wrong, and that as a leader I should put my people first but – I've been spending too much time with you, recently." She tries to keep her tone light and affectionate. "I think some of your big heart has rubbed off on me."

"Clarke Griffin, worrying more about a few of her friends than the whole of her people?" He asks, incredulous, already returning to something resembling good humour as he somehow always manages to do, for her.

"Clarke Griffin, worrying more about _one_ of her friends than the whole of her people." She corrects him quietly, barely daring to whisper the truth, watching her words scatter as mist in the chill air.

He says nothing for a long time, and when she gathers enough courage to turn towards him at last he is staring out into the gathering darkness. She is on the point of speaking, of trying to smooth over the awkward moment or take back her ill-timed confession, when he surprises her with a troubled smile.

"It's about time. It was getting a bit one-sided, me always worrying about keeping you alive while you were out there charging into danger." He tells her, his end-of-days sarcasm out in full force.

She chokes on an emotional laugh, and wonders about reaching out to squeeze his leg. That seems like it would be an unsurprising development, based on the way this conversation is playing out, but she doesn't want to distract him while he's driving or anything like that. She also doesn't want to misinterpret his words or misread his mood, she has to admit. She'd feel like a bit of an idiot right now, if it turned out he was worrying about her in a sisterly way while she's been worrying about him in a – well, in a _Bellamy_ kind of a way.

As if he has read her mind, he reaches a hand towards her, and before she quite knows what she's doing she seems to have curled her fingers around his palm and given a gentle squeeze. It is a fleeting touch, as he quickly retracts his hand to get back on with driving, but it is enough to bolster her courage.

"I'm proud of you." She tells him firmly. "I know it wasn't easy for you to do that, but I promise you it was the smart move and we'll get them back."

He nods, clears his throat. "I'm proud of you, too. I know this is the worst possible time to be left as acting Chancellor, and you're – you're incredible." He swallows noisily. "But I'm even prouder of you for letting me tell you it's OK to worry."

"I can be scared and still call the shots." She repeats, beginning to believe the words herself.

"Yeah." He agrees, flashing her a quick grin.

She sits on that thought for a moment, lets it sink in more deeply. She has a lot of respect for Bellamy, and while his opinions aren't always what one might call _well-thought-out_ , she's willing to believe him on this occasion, she decides.

She can be scared and still call the shots.

Stealing a glance at him, she directs herself back to the matter at hand, and to the politics that need to be played.

"Is there a reason we're driving there rather than radioing Kane?" That catches Bellamy by surprise. She can tell it from the line of his jaw and the way his eyes dart towards her.

"Radioing Kane." He repeats, and she cannot tell if it is a statement or a question.

"Yeah. He's already in Polis – so why are we driving there? Why didn't you just call him and ask him to negotiate?"

Bellamy swallows, slowly, and if she didn't know better Clarke might be tempted to think he looked a bit embarrassed. "Because I didn't think of that." He concedes quietly.

"You didn't _think of it_?"

"No." He confirms, jaw working. "It's been one hell of a day, so excuse me if I didn't sit around and make the most _efficient_ plan. I had one or two things on my mind, so I got as far as _I'll get back to Arkadia and get Clarke and she'll fix it_. And I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment, to you, Princess -"

"Bellamy." She cuts him off, braves placing a hand on his thigh. Nothing good can come of listening to his insecurities spilling over any longer. "I'm not disappointed at all. Proud of you, remember?"

He huffs out an unimpressed noise, jaw unyielding as ever.

She wants him to say something. She _needs_ him to say something, otherwise she's going to end up letting loose the words that are on the tip of her tongue, and she's pretty sure she shouldn't do that. She's pretty sure there are questions she's not supposed to ask, even amidst the raw honesty of this truck ride so far. So, yeah, if he could speak right about now that would be -

"That's really what you thought?" She hears herself say, and curses the way this man seems to scatter all her usual self-control. "You thought that if you could find me I'd be able to fix it?"

"That's mostly what I think when shit goes wrong." He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but she decides not to mention the fact he fails. "Mostly I think that as long as I find you, you'll be able to put it right."

She gapes at him. It's unattractive, she knows, but it can't be helped.

He tries for another shrug, and that's what convinces her to help him out.

"You know that's what I think about you, right?" She tries to keep the shake out of her voice. "You're always the first person I want by my side when things get tough."

Of course, he is Bellamy, so he chooses this moment to lighten the mood. "Look at us, with our healthy co-dependent relationship."

She gives him half a smile for that. "I mean it."

"I know you do." He concedes. "I do, too."

She does him the courtesy of pretending that his voice is not growing thick with emotion, and reaches out for the radio on the dashboard. "Shall I get on with fixing this, then?"

He laughs. "Yeah. Go for it."

It is easily fixed, in the end. Kane passes on that Roan claims to know nothing about his people keeping slaves – and that he is reasonably convincing as he claims it – and that a messenger has been dispatched with his seal to order their release. He is, evidently, not interested in antagonising his crucial allies at this dangerous time. The messenger will ride through the night and should be on site by dawn, and Bellamy and Clarke are to take the truck and collect their people.

Bellamy listens patiently, still driving, while Clarke negotiates all this, and waits until she sets down the radio.

"I guess I should stop driving, huh?"

She rewards him with another half smile. "I guess so. Or at least, stop driving to Polis. What's the plan?"

"The plan's your plan." He bounces back at her, starting to relax into a more good-humoured mood now that the issue of the day is well on the way to being resolved.

"The _political_ plan is my plan." She clarifies. "I'm pretty sure you're the expert when it comes to driving trucks around here."

He doesn't argue with that. It's one of the things she likes about their partnership – they both play their parts, and they play them well. They complement each other, she reckons.

He hums a little, and pulls over by the side of the track. "We do have time to get back to Arkadia and then on to Farm Station. But we wouldn't have much time to sleep back at Arkadia if we did that, and it would be a lot of driving at night. I'm not sure the battery could take it."

"I don't want you driving all night." She rushes to argue. "We can swap."

"Better idea." He suggests, his tone making it clear that she needs to stop talking. "We stop here for the night. We're more or less going the right way for Farm Station. We can sleep in the back of the truck for a couple of hours and still make it there by dawn."

"We sleep in the truck?" She repeats, not sure why this idea sounds so strange to her.

"Yeah. There are blankets and rations in all the vehicles in case anyone gets stranded. Should be a comfortable night."

She understands, now, why it sounded strange to her. It all makes sense, as soon as he says the word _comfortable_. It sounded strange because she cannot imagine a situation _less_ comfortable than sleeping the night in the back of a truck with Bellamy. They've just spent the better part of an hour discussing what a wonderful team they make, for goodness sake. There's no way she's going to be able to lie quietly next to him and look convincingly platonic after that.

For one brief, heady moment, she remembers the gentle touches of hands that have featured in this journey so far and allows herself to imagine that, perhaps, she doesn't _need_ to look convincingly platonic.

No. No, that can't be right.

She realises, at this point, that Bellamy is still looking for an answer, and that he's beginning to frown at her.

"Yeah. Great idea. Really comfortable." She nods, bites her lip, and then wonders if that could have gone any worse.

"Great." He slaps the steering wheel heartily for no apparent reason and then hops out of the driver's side door. "Let's go make ourselves at home."

She spends longer than she ought in preparing herself to leave her seat and join him in the back of the truck. She takes several deep breaths, but all too soon she knows she needs to open the door. She has not had as long to collect herself as she would like to feel truly ready, but if she dawdles any longer, she knows he will get suspicious.

By the time she makes it into the back of the truck he is already throwing blankets around the place with every appearance of good cheer.

"I should have thought to let you grab some warmer clothes before we left." He says apologetically. "We've got a good number of blankets, but it'll still be a cold one."

"Winter." She contributes, less than usefully, still struggling a bit to speak.

"At least there's two of us. We can share body heat." He says, and then swallows, and then stares very firmly at the blanket in his hand.

"Do you want something to eat?" Clarke changes the subject with forced brightness and starts casting about the truck for anything that looks like a package of rations.

"Here." Bellamy reaches underneath a blanket and produces a canteen of water and a ration bar.

"Thanks." She accepts the food, and then sits awkwardly at his side.

She's annoyed with herself. She's _beyond_ annoyed at herself. This is her closest friend, and they have shared personal space plenty of times before now, and there is no reason at all for this to get uncomfortable. With that decided, she shuffles a bit closer to him and pulls a blanket over their legs.

"You OK?" He asks, all concern. "Warm enough?"

She nods, and tears into her ration bar. But somehow his arm has come to rest around her shoulders all the same, and she decides that maybe this _sharing body heat_ thing isn't such a terrible idea after all.

She gets a bit braver, and leans in even closer.

"You warm enough?" She decides to ask him in return.

"You know, half way to Ice Nation in the middle of winter in an old jacket isn't the warmest I've ever been." He's trying to do that lighthearted voice he does to cheer her up, she can tell, but for some reason it's not quite working out for him.

Her ration bar now finished, she comes to a decision. He is cold, and she likes hugging him, and she's pretty sure that there's a straightforward way to combine these two facts for the benefit of them both.

She pulls the blanket higher around them, and wraps both her arms around his middle. It's not the most subtle move anyone's ever made on him, she is pretty sure, but it suits the moment.

She likes to think it suits _them_ , too. They have never been subtle about showing how protective they are of one another.

"Better?" She murmurs into his neck. She's not quite sure when she started whispering, or when her face ended up nestled against his neck, but she sees no sense in ruining the mood now.

"Yeah. Thanks." He balls up their empty food wrappers and tosses them into a corner. She'd like to tell him not to litter in a shared vehicle, but it doesn't quite seem like the moment for that.

There is a heartbeat of loaded silence, and then they both speak at once.

"Do you want to -?"

"Should we -?"

Another pause, and Bellamy cracks a grin. "You go first." He invites her.

"Should we get some sleep?"

"That's what I was thinking." He agrees, rearranging the blankets around them. He even pulls his jacket off, and starts balling it into a pillow.

"I thought you were cold?" She queries, confused.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am." He stutters slightly, and she's not familiar with the phenomenon of Bellamy Blake _stuttering_. "I just thought – it doesn't keep much heat in and we'll be warmer if we're closer together. And you'll be more comfortable with a pillow."

"I plan on using you as a pillow." She informs him briskly. "Lie down."

He does as she requests, a look in his eyes that she cannot quite make sense of in the gathering darkness. And she lies down, too, and rests her head over his heart and slings an arm about his waist. His arms come up around her then and, all things considered, this is really rather lovely.

It is certainly not uncomfortable in the way she expected.

So, of course, she feels some instinctive need to go and ruin that. She's lying here, curled up with Bellamy and _sharing body heat_ as she has only dreamed of doing, and she has to go and open her stupid mouth.

"You know, if you wanted to end up in bed with me tonight you could have just knocked on the door of my room."

She feels the air rush out of his lungs at her words, and then hears him breathe in carefully to speak. "I'll bear that in mind for tomorrow."

Now that's not the response she was expecting. If he'd said it in a jovial tone, _that_ she could almost have made sense of. But he said it like – well, like he _meant_ it.

"You don't think that would be taking overprotective a bit far?" She asks, trying to pull this back to familiar ground.

"Clarke." Something about the way he says it gives her pause. "I'm pretty sure no one has ever shared your bed out of _protectiveness_."

"What do you call this, then?"

"Would you stop making this so difficult?" He asks, sounding almost angry now. "I have been trying to be your patient and protective and _platonic_ friend for months, and you know it. So can you just stop reminding me that when I finally get to _sleep with you_ it's like – like this?"

She's an intelligent woman, so she doesn't misunderstand him. And she's grown used to dealing with the unexpected on a near-daily basis so this – it's not so much of a challenge after all, actually. And somehow, as soon as she hears the words, everything falls into place. And maybe that's because he's Bellamy and things are – well, things are _always_ comfortable when she's with Bellamy. If tonight has taught her nothing else, it's taught her that.

"I didn't know that." She informs him conversationally. "Did you know I feel the same way about you?"

Another breathy exhale, another cautious inhale. "That's news to me."

In their defence, they've both been a bit busy trying to save the human race.

She curls her hand around a fistful of his shirt, because she reckons she's allowed to do that now. And then she raises herself on the other elbow just far enough to look down at his face. She's just opening her mouth to speak, planning on saying something about how important their friendship is to her, perhaps, or asking his permission to start making out with him or whether he thinks that screwing might ruin everything, when he takes her rather by surprise.

He sits up towards her, and presses his lips to hers.

She takes that for her answer, takes that as confirmation that a bit of kissing will not ruin anything at all. So she kisses him back, hard and hot, pushing him back down onto the floor of the truck as he opens his mouth with a groan.

"Clarke." He gasps, as she pulls away to nibble slightly at his collarbone.

"Uhuh?"

"Are you sure about this?"

"Just kiss me." She instructs him, bringing her lips back down to meet his with a grin, smiling against him even though it makes the kiss messy and uncoordinated.

"I don't take orders from you." He reprimands her, whispering against her lips, his laughter coming out as gasps against her mouth.

She lets that go. She lets it go, because it is obviously not exactly the truth.

Clarke has to admit, she's imagined sex with Bellamy once or twice. Just as a thought experiment, obviously, not because she's been hung up on him or anything.

Actually, they seem to be together now, if her current situation is anything to go by. Maybe she's allowed to concede that she has, in fact, been a _little_ bit hung up on him.

So, yeah, she's imagined this a few times, but she has never imagined that their first time would be in the back of a truck half way to Polis. And she's not the most comfortable she's ever been, as he urges her back onto a heap of blankets that does little to disguise the hard cold floor beneath her shoulders, but then he starts trailing kisses down her collarbone and she decides that, probably, she can put up with the location.

Bellamy kissing her collarbone is nice and all, but Clarke reckons it's time for her to do some exploring of her own. She reaches for the hem of his shirt and starts tugging it up over his head. She's got an idea or two about tracing the muscles of his stomach with her fingertips, and maybe digging her nails into the firm expanse of his back, only the blankets keep getting in the way and she just can't seem to undress him.

He pulls back from kissing her for a moment to meet her eye in the near darkness.

"Smooth." He teases her, quirking an amused brow while she tries to disentangle his T shirt from a pair of scratchy blankets.

Clarke flushes, humiliated. She should have known that something like this would happen, that those silly fantasies she had of hot sex on a soft bed with no unexpected obstacles were naive beyond believing. Of course she had to go and make a fool of herself in front of -

A sound kiss cuts off her increasingly frantic train of thought. "Relax, Clarke. The world isn't ending _tomorrow_. We've got time to practise this."

"Yeah." She sighs in defeat, lets go of the hem of his shirt.

"I didn't mean we shouldn't practise _now_." He corrects her. "I just meant – I hope we'll be doing this again, however many awkward moments we have this time round."

"I'd like that." She murmurs, beginning to remember that, as she decided only minutes ago, things are always comfortable when she's with Bellamy.

"Trust us to end up getting together in the back of a truck in the middle of nowhere." He offers her a smile, clearly hoping to lighten the mood.

She smiles back, and reaches in for a kiss. That gets things going again, but they move slower, now. Their lips linger a little more, and the hand that Bellamy slides from her hip up to her waist is almost tentative. She follows his lead, relaxing into this new rhythm, curling a hand around the back of his neck and stroking the softness of his hair.

At last, he takes pity on her, and shrugs off the blankets just long enough to strip, and to help her undress, too. The cold air is a shock, but within seconds they are back under the covers and picking up where they left off.

"Better?" He asks, laughter in his voice, as she gets on with acting on that earlier impulse to touch every inch of his warm skin.

"Mhmm." She hums against his mouth, too preoccupied to use actual words.

The kissing is good, and the opportunity to explore his body is welcome, but Clarke is beginning to want more, now. Her earlier embarrassment is ebbing away, replaced by what can only be described as lust.

She's supposed to call the shots, she seems to remember. To be fair, she's not sure if that still stands in the bedroom – or the back of truck, on this occasion – but she reckons it's worth a try. Based on the enthusiastic but almost _shy_ way Bellamy is currently making out with her, she cannot help but think he's trying to sit back and let her set the pace.

Without further ado, she trails a hand around his hip and starts teasing his cock. As moves go, it's hardly a subtle one, but it's certainly effective. The panicky breath Bellamy gasps into her mouth rather gives that away, and then he starts moaning, and she's never been more flattered in her life. Growing bolder, she actually curls her hand around the length of him and gives an experimental tug.

More moaning, louder this time. Perhaps this is even _groaning_.

She tries again.

"Clarke." His voice is hoarse, and it sends a thrill all the way to her crotch. " _Please_."

That's not a very specific request. He's going to have to do better than that. She rubs her hand over him a couple more times.

"Clarke." He sounds like he's choking on her name.

"Mhmm?"

"You should stop." He eases her hand away, regains some control over his voice. "I want it to be good for you too."

"Trust me, this is good." She gives a breathy laugh.

"Are you sure? I wanted to eat you out, but the blankets – and there's not a lot of space in here." Clarke's not sure what to make of the fact she finds it attractive that he sounds half way between aroused and apologetic. She files that away for later, for when she's slightly more capable of coherent thought and slightly less distracted by – well, by _Bellamy_.

"We're going to be doing this again, remember?" She punctuates the question with a kiss. "We have until the world ends to try whatever the hell you want. But for now I just need _you_."

"Me?"

"You." She repeats, running her thumb over the head of his cock to make her meaning plain.

"OK." He swallows loudly, and she is struck by the sudden realisation that he is nervous, too. She never saw that one coming.

"It's OK." She whispers, ghosting her lips against his ear. "I'm ready for you. I want you."

He concedes at that, and brings his lips back to hers. Skimming his fingertips over her breast on his way past, he takes a hand down to her crotch. On reflex, Clarke closes her eyes. She knows that she shouldn't be embarrassed to be soaking wet for a guy who's into her and has been making out with her for the best part of ten minutes but – well. She really is _very_ soaking wet.

"You _are_ ready for me." He agrees, approval in his voice. "So how are we – do you -?"

"Just screw me already." She tells him, pulling him in for a firm kiss to carry her command home.

He laughs nervously against her mouth, then eases slowly inside of her. It's a bit of a stretch, but nothing she can't handle – after all, she's more than ready for him.

"OK?" He checks, and it does funny things to her heart. There's been a lot of talking, tonight, and it's not exactly been dirty talk but she decides she loves this caring communication even more.

"Mhmm." She confirms, rocking her hips up against him and getting back on with kissing him. She wraps a hand around the back of his head, too, tangling in his hair, but she can't quite decide what to do with the other hand. There are just too many things to explore, from the broad expanse of his back to the firm muscles of his shoulders to the softness of the nape of his neck.

Things fall apart rather quickly after that, in the best possible way. Bellamy finds his rhythm, and it's a rhythm Clarke certainly approves of, and her lower back is not going to thank her in the morning for the vigour with which she is thrusting up to meet him and then crashing down into the floor of the truck but that is a problem for another time. She still hasn't decided on exactly what to do with her hands, running her fingers over as much of him as she can get hold of – sometimes grabbing at his butt cheeks to help her get more pressure, sometimes simply holding him tight and enjoying the ride. And his hands seem to be everywhere, too, on her breasts more often than not, then sneaking down to her clit to tease her to the edge.

She doesn't need the help. She doesn't need the help because the edge is there, just there, and then she's seeing stars and Bellamy is gasping her name against her ear and clutching at her waist so tight she thinks his nails might leave a mark.

The silence is uncanny, as they both regain control of their breathing. All that talking, all that panting, and now – nothing.

Clarke summons her courage. She has never lacked bravery before, but she has never had sex with her best friend before, so this is new territory.

She plunges straight in. "I hope that was good for you, because it was good for me. And it would be a shame not to do it again some time."

She feels him breathe a sigh of relief where he still lies on top of her. "It was great for me." He confirms, as he rolls to the side and takes her with him, so she ends up lying half on his chest. "You doing alright? I didn't hurt you?"

Rolling her eyes affectionately, she hugs him tight. "I'll be sore in the morning, but the good kind of sore. I wouldn't change a thing about tonight."

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Me neither."

Within moments his breathing grows soft with sleep. Clarke hasn't been all that good at sleeping recently – something to do with that fear of whether the human race will survive the death wave, she reckons – but to her surprise, she finds that she is quite relaxed, now. There is something about the sound of Bellamy's gentle snoring and the reassuring warmth of his chest beneath her cheek that makes the end of the world a less frightening prospect.

She's still a little scared about this new step in their relationship, she has to admit. The death wave is coming, and with it the danger of losing him and everyone else she cares about. And she can't afford to get distracted, can't afford to let a bit of romance throw her off her game.

But she can be scared and still call the shots.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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